


More, More, More

by elephantshell



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, First Time, Frottage, Lazy Afternoon Sex, Porn Without Plot, bby lesbians, wolfthorn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 11:57:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9180520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elephantshell/pseuds/elephantshell
Summary: Like all the best things Sansa has done lately, it’s Margaery’s idea.





	

Like all the best things Sansa has done lately, it’s Margaery’s idea.

They’re in Margaery’s bedroom, and the house is empty, like it always is when Sansa comes over, and like it always seems to be, according to Margaery. Margaery is pressed against Sansa’s back, playing with her hair and laying lazy kisses on her neck, and Sansa is still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that she’s really here, with Margaery Tyrell. Margaery Tyrell, probably the prettiest thing Sansa has ever seen in her life, who got drunk at a party and kissed Sansa right on her lips. Margaery Tyrell, who called the next morning and told her it wasn’t a mistake. Margaery Tyrell who has kept kissing Sansa for weeks now, on her lips, her collarbone, her wrists, and calling her beautiful every time she does.

And now Margaery Tyrell has her pretty lips pressed against Sansa’s ear as she whispers, “Do you want to do more?”

Sansa feels her face flush as she turns around to face the other girl. Margaery’s eyes are eager and waiting for a response.

“What do you mean?” Sansa stumbles out.

Margaery smirks and lifts herself on an elbow. “You know what I mean. More of…”Margaery raises her eyebrows in lieu of words, and Sansa is sure her face is as red as her hair.

Does she want to do more? Sansa almost wants to laugh at how obvious the answer is. It’s all she’s been thinking about these past few weeks, since Margaery first starts kissing her neck and running her fingers in her hair. It’s the image she conjures for herself when her own hands are roaming her body, and she wonders how lips would feel here and there and there. Sansa can’t remember feeling this much wanting before, and she has to admit it scares her a little.

Sansa swallows and asks, “Have-have you ever done this before?” Margaery blushes, and her cheeks are rosy and beautiful.

“Never. Not with a girl at least. What about you?” Sansa remembers when her brother’s friend Theon got drunk at last year’s Christmas party and slid his hands up and down her rear in the backyard, and whispering how much older she looked. Sansa decides that doesn’t count for anything and shakes her head.

“I wouldn’t know what to do,” Sansa says, embarrassed for a reason she can’t really name. She’s not sure what exactly Margaery is expecting from her, but she’s pretty terrified of letting her down, looking lame in front of her.

“I wouldn’t either,” Margaery blushes deeper, and it just make her look prettier, till Sansa can’t stand it. “I’m sure it’s not too hard to figure out, though,” Margaery giggles as her lips find Sansa’s.

Margaery’s lips are soft and familiar. This Sansa is used to, this she’s good at, usually. But now she’s nervous and her kisses feel off tempo with Margaery’s. The brunette seems to sense it, because she strokes the side of Sansa’s face and whispers “It’s ok,” into her mouth. Sansa lets out a breath, and lets herself fall into the familiar. Margaery’s lips against hers, her hands tugging gently at her hair, her fingers massaging the back of her neck. When she feels Margaery’s hands slide across her breasts, she stiffens and lets out a gasp.

The older girl freezes, and looks Sansa dead in the eyes. “Are you ok?”

Sansa nods, and smiles. “Just nervous, I guess.”

Margaery cups the younger girl’s face and gives her a reassuring smile. “Don’t be. It’s just me.” She kisses Sansa’s neck, and her hands move to Sansa’s blouse, trying to unbutton it. Sansa feels Margaery’s hands, shaky and clumsy. It’s strangely calming to know that graceful, lovely Margaery Tyrell is just as nervous as she is.

Margaery finally has Sansa’s top undone, and rubs her thumb in small circles around her nipples until they harden and Sansa bites her lip. Margaery looks at Sansa and gives her a shy smile. “Is this ok?”

It’s more than ok. It’s what she’s imagined hundreds of thousands of times, but so much better, because it’s real. It’s happening here and now and Margaery is here and real. But she can’t say those things, so she just nods and smiles.

Margaery lays a string of kisses along Sansa’s collarbone like a necklace, and it makes her sink down into the pillows, gasping slightly. Margaery smirks and slides her hands up and down Sansa’s sides, and the sensation makes her squirm underneath the older girl. Margaery lays a kiss on Sansa’s cheek before she whispers in her ear, “Do you like that?” Her hand is fiddling with the waist of Sansa’s skirt. Sansa whispers “Yeah.”

“Do you want more?”

“Please.”

Margaery runs her hand up Sansa’s leg, slowly, deliberately. She stops at the knee, slides her fingers across the crease, walks her fingers up Sansa’s thighs. Sansa catches her breath, a wave of desire rushing over her, her cunt clenching. Marg rubs her through her underwear and Sansa feels herself sink deeper into the mattress, her legs spreading, her fingers clawing at the sheets. She can feel Marg’s smirk against her neck and she wants to be annoyed at the arrogance, but fuck Marg is earning the right to be arrogant.

“More?”

Sansa lets out a small, pleading moan, angling her hips up to Margaery. Margaery slips her hand inside Sansa’s underwear and the skin-to-skin makes her gasp. 

“God, please keep going.”

Marg smirks, tugs the underwear down, Sansa shifting her hips to ease out of it. She can feel her wetness on her thighs, feel the pressure building in her clit, her cunt pulsing. Most of all, she can feel Margaery, her hands running up and down Sansa’s thighs, over her breasts, her lips on her nipples. Margaery’s bare thigh touches her cunt and Sansa instinctively wraps her legs around Marg’s thigh, rubbing against her, reveling in the delicious friction. Marg moves her leg up and down, meeting Sansa’s thrusts, her mouth sucking one nipple, her hand gently pulling at the other. 

Sansa throws her head back and arches her back, a low long moan escaping her. She feels so supple and loose under Marg’s caress, feels her orgasm building from deep inside her cunt, building up through her, past her stomach, her lungs, until she swears she can fucking taste it. She takes Marg’s face in her hands and kisses her long and deep, running her fingers through her thick, brown hair, pulling as she feels Marg’s thigh push against her clit, and she thrusts back with abandon, each stroke building her orgasm until-

“Fuck, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna-” and she comes, succumbs to the deep pulsing taking over her body, each wave leaving her more loose, dragging her down into a delicious place between exhausting and wired energy. She can feel her slickness on Margaery’s thighs, and if she wasn’t so spent, it’d arouse her even more. Margaery pulls Sansa to lay on her chest, and as Sansa feels Marg’s heartbeat and steady breathing, she starts to drift to sleep, thinking how fucking lucky she is to be holding Margaery Tyrell like this.

“So. What’d you think?”

“Hmm?” Sansa is half conscious, barely comprehending Margaery’s voice, let alone her question.

“You know? About?”

Sansa smiles and snuggles closer to Margaery. “First, I’ll sleep. Then I’ll definitely want more.”

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @mistressparker 
> 
> Just a little light wolfthorn to get ya through the new year.


End file.
